Love Letter
by Mirai2
Summary: Semi-humorous post-Valentine's Day Valentine's Day Harry/Draco fic. Harry needs a date... He takes a shot at poetry... and misses. Draco doesn't seem to mind.
1. Love Letter

Author: Mirai  
Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter. Wish I did… I could use the money.  
Warnings: slash, bad poetry, tutu references  
Author's Note: I may continue this, but it seems all right on its own. Tell me what you think!   
  
    Harry pursed his lips, tapping his pen against his cheek. He was trying, and simultaneously failing, to write love poetry. Really failing. If love was dead, Cupid was turning in his grave.
    Harry sighed, and rested his head on his arm, taking his quill and blotting out the lines that would have made any self-respecting Hallmark employee cry. Liberally spreading ink over his paper, he made a heart. With a smiley-face. And a tutu. Then gave it fangs. Next to it he wrote:
  
  
_    Ashes to ashes,
  
    Dust to dust,
  
    If I were a vampire heart,
  
    You'd give me bloodlust.
_  
  
    Harry practically choked, then quickly drown that verse in black ink like its forgoers. Maybe if he put "tutu-wearing vampire heart"…? Maybe not. _There are so many things wrong with that… isn't it "Roses are red" anyway?_ Harry sighed again, and chewed on his thumb. Finally, beneath the giant black blob that had become the top of his paper, Harry scrawled out three new verses:
  
  
    _Whips are made of leather,_
  
    Ropes are made of string,
  
    And handcuffs can be made of
  
    Almost anything.
  
  
    I'll bring the milk chocolate
  
    If you'll bring the whipped cream
  
    Ten bucks and your dignity
  
    Say I'm gonna make you scream
.  
  
    Yeah, the rose petals are really red
  
    And the violets sure are blue
  
    All over the silk sheets
  
    Where I'm gonna screw you.
  
  
    Harry snickered to himself. Well, that was out of the question, but it was sadly the best thing he'd come up with thus far. Maybe he'd give it to Ron and say it was from Hermione. Yeah… Of course, Ron might kill him.
  
    Suddenly Ron nudged him, hard. Harry blinked and looked up.
  
    "Well?" asked Professor Binns with all the enthusiasm of a bag full of air, which, Harry reflected, was more or less what Professor Binns was. Harry risked a glance over at Hermione, who shook her head vehemently.
  
    "Er… no?" Harry said. 
  
    Professor Binns beamed. Well, he didn't exactly beam. Or really even change his expression. "Very good. The time you are spending taking notes is obviously paying off."
  
    "Er, yeah. Notes," Harry said, casually folding his sheet of paper two times and wedging it into the crack between the tabletop and its frame.
  
    He was pretty sure he heard Seamus cough "bullshit," and Ron nudged Harry and grinned. Binns failed to notice, as was typical, and continued with the lecture.
  
    "The year 1684, however, failed to bring the changes the triumvirate requested. This resulted in…"
  
    Harry, feeling a tiny twinge of guilt, took real notes for the rest of class, although he couldn't resist a few doodles, none of which, fortunately, resembled a vampire heart with a tutu.
  
    When class ended, Harry packed up his books and notes, completely forgetting the little scrap of paper wedged into the desk.
  
  
  
    Draco Malfoy hated history. But then, Draco Malfoy hated a lot of things. Draco Malfoy hated children, small animals, and bananas. But Draco Malfoy hated history the most. He hated it even more than bananas. So Draco Malfoy was somewhat surprised to find a little white note wedged into his desk when he sat down. History might not be so dull after all.
  
    Malfoy glanced around surreptitiously, then unfolded the note. He wondered who knew where he sat, and why they knew. Maybe it was a death threat. Yeah, that would be cool. Or maybe…
  
    Malfoy looked curiously at the top half of the sheet, which was covered entirely in black ink. He tilted his head. That one part, he swore, looked kind of like a heart. With fangs, or something. And maybe a tutu. He blinked, wondering if it was one of those inkblot Rorschach-things. Seeing a tutu-wearing heart with fangs, he thought, couldn't mean good things for the state of his mental health…
  
    And then Malfoy noticed the bottom half of the paper. Two bleach-blonde eyebrows shot up.
  
  
  
    At lunch, when Ron was done helping himself to a generous portion of Percy's dessert while he chatted with the girl next to him, he turned to Harry.
  
    "Mind if I copy your history notes, Harry?" he teased through a mouthful of blueberry strudel.
  
    Harry grinned. "Well, gee, I'd love to but my handwriting's not so good. You should probably borrow Hermiones'…"
  
    Hermione rolled her eyes good-humoredly at both of them. "I know it's not your favorite class, but you two could at least try to pay attention, instead of drawing stick figures, or writing dirty limericks, or whatever it is you do."
  
    Somewhere between "History notes" and "dirty limericks" Harry's mind made a connection. He turned pale.
  
    "Be right back," he managed, hastily dropping his eating utensils and running from the hall.
  
    Harry was immediately relieved upon noticing two things. First, the history room was empty, and second, there was his little white note, peeping out from under his desktop. Sighing with relief, he plopped down in his seat, and pulled out the note, holding it in his hands.
  
    Looking down at it, though, he frowned. It was a little less ink-soaked than he remembered it. And the paper was a little less lined than he remembered. As a matter of fact, this was a little bit less his note than he had thought.
  
    Holding it gingerly, with all the cheerful confidence of a canary about to enter a gas-filled mine, he opened it:
  
  
    _You need help. You're messed up. _
  
  
    Harry shrugged. It was his own fault, he supposed…
  
  
    _And kinky. We should talk. _
  
  
    Harry blinked, doing the ocular equivalent of a double take. What?? He reread that line. He wore glasses for a reason, after all.
  
  
    _But you definitely need to find a better way of communicating with me. I would suggest you leave future notes in the knight's helmet outside the Great Hall…_
  
  
    Harry turned it over, looking for a signature. When he didn't find one, he just shrugged, entirely bewildered. It looked like he might have a date for Valentine's Day after all.
  
  



	2. I hate this more than life itself

Author: Mirai  
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, but my birthday is coming up soon…  
Warnings: slash, raccoons, may be insulting to people named "Nancy"  
Author's Note: I really had no idea where I was going to go with this. I should apologize; it's a little bit odd… But I'm not gonna! Insufferable's the word. Thanks to the awesome reviewers who encouraged me to continue this!  
  
  
  
    "I hate this more than life itself," Draco Malfoy hissed.
    Normally, Potions was Draco Malfoy's favorite class. Then again, normally, Draco wasn't stuck with Harry Potter for a partner. Being put with one's worst enemy did amazing things for one's concentration. Amazingly bad things. Everything seemed to be going wrong. The sickly yellow color of their cauldron didn't look particularly tasty, and Draco was beginning to think that baking powder just might not be the correct substitute for crushed gryffin's tooth.
    "Love," Harry said absentmindedly.
    Draco dropped his wand. "What?"
    Harry looked up at Draco, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "The expression is, 'I love this more than life itself.'"
    Malfoy gave him a withering glance and scooped his wand up from the floor. "Well maybe it is for _you_, Potter." He turned back to the ingredient list in his potion book, looking sidelong at Harry. "Pathetic Gryffindor nancy."
    Harry chose to ignore him. He checked his list of ingredients and measured out a reasonable dollop of dragon's bane.
    "Potter!" Malfoy yelled, and Harry turned just in time to get a nice whiff of their cauldron, which had begun fuming a thick, yellow gas.
    "Nice job Potter," muttered Draco, who was holding the arm of his robe in front of his nose. The pot burst into flames, and they both stepped back.
    "Right, and I'm sure the last five ingredients you added were right," Harry hissed, attempting to fan the fumes away from his eyes. "I wasn't aware that this healing potion called for a quill."
    Draco sniffed. "Well, you are a little slow sometimes, Potter. It fell in, anyway. And mostly because you bumped my arm."
    Harry glared. "Uh huh. And what about the ink?"
    Draco shrugged. "It was bound to follow suit. Besides, it's on the ingredient list." He directed his finger to the proper place in their textbook.         "'Ink' isn't the same as 'eye of newt.'"
    "Ah, well, I thought it was an acronym."
    "That would be… 'e.o.n.'?"
    "I was assuming American spelling."
    "That doesn't… nobody would… you can't…" Harry gave up. "Look, the point is, what are we going to do about this?"
    "You mean, what are _you_ going to do about it. It's your mess, so I believe you should clean it up. That's what you Gryffindor sissies _do_, isn't it?"
    Fortunately, or unfortunately, Professor Snape chose that moment to check on their progress. Judgement was swift and severe. Harry rather thought he could get his own show on FOX.
    "Points from you, points for you." Snape pointed at Harry, then Draco. "I've got a headache, don't ask questions."
  
  
  
  
    Harry looked from the picture in the book to their cauldron. It was looking kind of chunky and smelling kind of dead. _Malfoy is definitely trying this first._ He poured a small amount into a glass cup.
    "I was going to volunteer to try it. Very inconsiderate of you not to offer it to me first, Potter."
    "Uh huh, well, gee, I'm sorry. Here, why don't you have the first taste after all."
    "But it's a healing potion."
    "So?"
    "I'm not hurt."
    "…Neither am I."
    "Please. You've got that hideous scar on your thick skull, and you can honestly say that you don't need a healing potion? It's practically painful just to look at."
    "So you're saying you're in pain?"
    "I'm saying you're a pain."
    "Bet you'd feel all better if you drank this."
    Harry waggled the potion under Draco's nose. Draco suddenly grinned and snatched the glass from Harry's hands.
    "Okay, Potter."
    "I don't really think you should drink that - I mean, it might be poisonous…" Harry said doubtfully. Archenemy and all, he didn't think it would be right to let Draco drink it. Draco's grin stretched wider, and Harry wondered idly if he filed his teeth in his spare time. Harry frowned, and reached for the glass.
    "Ten points from Gryffindor. Potter, if you're going to try and poison students, try to do it in someone else's class," Snape said irritably. He turned and walked away, muttering to himself. Harry thought he heard "I love my job," but he couldn't quite be sure.
    "Sucker," Draco said, smirking.
    Harry turned to glare at him. "Oh, shut up."
  
  
  
    Harry spent the rest of potions cleaning out their cauldron and glaring daggers at Snape's toupee. Okay, it probably wasn't really a toupee, but referring to it as one made him feel a little better. _His hair does kind of resemble a very dead small animal._ He let himself daydream about animal rights activists throwing paint on Snape's head for wearing fur.
    "Harry?" Ron's voice interrupted his reverie, just when his daydream was getting to the good part. A pack of raccoons had Snape surrounded. "You're going to get it for what you did to our brother!" the lead raccoon said…
    "Harry!" Ron said again, sounding a little irritated.
    "Hmm?" Harry said, blinking and turning slowly to look at Ron.
    "You've been washing that cauldron for half an hour! Class is over… And why do you have that huge grin plastered to your face? You look like an idiot. Er, no offense."
    Harry laughed sheepishly. "Oh. I guess I got distracted. I was daydreaming." He pulled his cauldron out of the sink and found that it was, indeed, sparkly-clean.
    "Ohhh," Ron said knowingly. "Daydreaming about a girl?"
    "No, Snape, actually." Ron starred, and there was a long pause that probably said something about the speed at which Harry's mind worked. "Not like that!"
    Ron snickered. "Riiiight. Sure, Harry. Just keep your sick fantasies to yourself." He paused, and looked around. "Where'd Hermione go?"
    Harry shrugged. "Dunno. Planning on asking her to the Valentine's Day dance?" he asked, more curious than teasing.
    "Shhhh," Ron said, flushing and looking around suspiciously for anyone listening. "I… well… she… I mean, I might. Speaking of which, who are you going to ask? I mean, if Snape says no?"
    "Ha ha. There's… someone," Harry said vaguely.
    Ron looked at him, obviously curious, but he merely shrugged. "Okay, as long as it's not Snape or… or anyone like that, you've got my blessing." He frowned. "I'd better not give you any ideas."
  
  
  
  
    Harry spent the rest of that afternoon trying to come up with something to say to his new paramour. Much scribbling, crossing out, and winged doodles left Harry with this:
  
  
_If you're not going to the Valentine's Day Dance with anyone, would you go with me?_  
  
    Harry shrugged. It would suffice.
    After dinner was over and he had finished his homework, he left Ron and Hermione at a game of Candyland. Ron was loosing terribly, because, he said, he had never played it before, and the Licorice Lady cheated.
    Harry snuck downstairs, letter in his pocket. He had considered signing his initials, but decided that it was too risky, in case his letter was 'intercepted.' It was already dark in the main hall, and Harry could only see by the faint light shining in the window. Reaching the bottom of the staircase, he squinted at the faint sheen that he supposed must be coming from the knight's helmet. He dashed quietly from the last stair towards the knight's helmet, until he smacked into something rather solid.
    "Ouch," he breathed as he hit the floor. He didn't remember a wall being there.
    Harry groped around on the floor for his glasses, but stopped when he heard a male voice mutter, "watch where you're going."
    "Oh, ah, sorry. It's dark…" The voice sounded familiar. Harry was suddenly very curious as to what this student was doing prowling around at night, but of course he couldn't ask, because then he'd have to explain himself.
    "I can see that," the voice drawled, sounding faintly amused.
    "Er, yeah. Could you be careful? I dropped my glasses…" Harry reached around on the floor again, patting the stone with his hand. "Oh, here's something."
    "That's my foot, genius," complained the other student, "and your glasses landed on me. Here."
    Harry reached out in the dark, and connected with a hand. He grabbed his glasses, and put them back on his face, which was about as pointless as wearing sunglasses at night. "Thanks a lot!"
    The other person didn't respond, and Harry said, "er, shouldn't you be getting back to your house? It's late, and after lights out."
    The silence stretched out across the hall, and Harry shifted uncomfortably.
    "Glasses… rule-abiding goody-goody… Potter." the other voice muttered venomously.
    The only student who ever called him Potter was,
     "Malfoy?! What are you doing… Never mind. I don't want to know. Anyway, you can't tell on me; you'll get in trouble too."
    "That's great. Why don't you just scurry back up to your house and leave me alone?"
    Harry considered. If he waited until tomorrow morning, Hermione and Ron would want to know what he was doing, and for all he knew, Draco might lurk about in the main hall all night. "I'll go where I want to, and anyway, I was here first."
    There was another brief pause, then Draco muttered, "it's not like I was going to hang around here with you, Potter." Harry heard his footsteps as he walked away.
    Harry lifted the knight's visor and dropped the note inside. "That was weird," he told the darkness. The darkness agreed. Harry snuck back upstairs, slipped in bed, and fell asleep almost instantly.
  
  
  
  
Author's Note #2: Hmm, well. "I wear my sunglasses at night… ba ba ba ba ba ba ba…" So, I finally updated; I'm really bad about that, especially now that I have a job. The thing is, my psychotic daydreaming at work has actually given me a pretty wicked plot. I think. The point among the babble being I will try to update frequently, and "frequently" is relative to whatever I want it to be. No, but really, I'll try to be good. I'm just really bad at being good. Thanks for reading! 


	3. Folie a Deux

Author: Mirai  
Disclaimer: We interrupt this disclaimer to bring you… _the Cheesy-Skeezy Harry Potter Joke of the Day!_   
That had better be a wand in your pocket!  
_We will now return you to your regularly scheduled disclaimer._  
So, I don't own it. Anyway, two wizards walk into a bar…   
Warnings: Actually, this is nice and spoiler-free. As for the other stuff… well, slash, lame songs, and general dorkyness  
Author's Note: …Would I make Harry act stupid?! Er…Okay, Chica Who Is Not to Be Psycho, you've got a point, but I did WAY more Malfoy bashing! I think… Poor Harry. I'll try and be nicer to him. Try…  
  
  
  
    Harry Potter trudged out of the Hogwarts castle at first light. The scene that greeted him was textbook Disney. Birds were singing; flowers were just opening their soft petals to the warm morning sun; shimmering pearls of dew clung to verdant blades of grass. Harry had the urge to belt out the opening song of "Oklahoma!" He settled on whistling it. "Oh what a beautiful morrrrning… oh what a beautiful daaay… I've got a beautiful feeeeeeling… everything's going my way…" And so on.
    Had a record of the musical been playing, it would have screeched to a halt as Harry turned the corner to the Quidditch field. There, like a storm cloud in front of the sun, crushing the verdant blades of grass and trampling the fragile flower petals, stood Draco Malfoy.
    "What are you doing here!?"
    Harry wasn't sure if he or Draco, or both of them, had said it.
    "Practicing," Harry said, holding his broom out in front of himself.
     Draco sighed, rather melodramatically Harry thought. "You know, Potter, following me around all the time isn't going to make my charm and good looks rub off on you."
    "Hey, GQ, can you take your charm and good looks somewhere else? I'd really like to practice…"
    Malfoy shrugged, and paused for a moment, as if to build up the suspense for whatever he would say next. "…I'll play you for the field. Assuming your supposed Gryffindor courage hasn't deserted you, that is…"
    "Ha! You're on. I wouldn't be caught dead losing to a Slytherin."
    "That's perfectly all right. You'll be alive when it happens."
    Harry rolled his eyes, and in one smooth movement, Malfoy loosed the snitch from his pocket into the air. He looked at Harry expectantly. 
    Harry, about to jump on his broom, froze. He felt a strange shiver trickle down his back, and he was somehow sure it had nothing to do with Malfoy. He looked behind him but could see nothing out of the ordinary. Somehow, though, the day didn't seem as bright as it had only a few moments ago.
    "Ahem." Harry looked up. Malfoy was already in the air, doing lazy circles. "If you've lost your nerve, Potter, why don't you just say so?"
    "Shut up," Harry muttered, the familiarity of the situation making him feel a little better. He took off. Slowly, he relaxed. The sun was warm on his back, and he was glad for a chance to play quidditch, Malfoy and all. Between homework, his secret admirer, and the upcoming Valentine's Day dance, he had a lot on his mind. He rounded the Quidditch field several times, letting his mind wander.
    He watched Malfoy, noting that his flying seemed to have improved considerably from the last time they had played. His movements were almost unconscious, more natural than Harry remembered. Harry saw a little white piece of paper drop out of Malfoy's pocket and flutter towards the ground. Without thinking, Harry dove for it. He slowed down and stretched his hand out, catching it high above the field. He stopped entirely, looking at it curiously.
    "Give that back."
    Harry started, Malfoy's voice was low and dangerous and very close to his ear. "Er-" He held out the slip of paper almost automatically, and Malfoy took it. Then Malfoy did the unthinkable. He dropped down to the ground, and walked off the field.
  
  
  
  
    Harry was fretting. That was the second time Malfoy had backed down from a challenge in the past couple of days. It was incredibly odd, not to mention off-putting. He thought at first that Malfoy might be a little distracted. That had definitely seemed the case, particularly in potions. But Harry had been thinking about it all day, and he was sure he finally knew the reason behind Malfoy's strange behavior.
    It was obvious. Malfoy was dying.
  
  
  
  
    Harry spotted Malfoy in the hall on his way to lunch. He pushed through the crowd, and Ron followed awkwardly behind him. Malfoy saw him, glared, and was about to turn away when Harry waved at him. Malfoy stared, but stayed rooted in his spot.
    "Um, sorry," Harry said, bowling over a student as he made his way toward Malfoy. Yes, it was all perfectly clear. Malfoy obviously was feeling guilty about being a horrible person, and he wanted to make amends in the only way he knew how. Malfoy seemed to be sorry, so it was up to him to do the rest. If Malfoy wanted to forget about the past, he should also make an attempt.
    Malfoy opened his mouth, but before he even had a chance to say something, Harry said, "Listen. I know about it. I'm sorry." He patted Malfoy's shoulder awkwardly.
    "What the hell are you on?!" Malfoy said, smacking Harry's hand, obviously a little thrown by Harry's behavior. "And don't touch me!"
    Ron gawked at Harry, mouth open for a moment, but then gathered himself together. "For once I agree with ferret-face. What the hell are you on?! And don't touch him! You might catch something." He examined Harry's face critically. "You sure you didn't catch something?
    Harry shook his head. His attempts at diplomacy obviously weren't working out very well. Come to think of it, what was he doing? If Malfoy was dying, it was probably indirectly his own fault. He had probably stolen candy from a baby, and the candy had been poisoned. Or… something like that. "Malfoy I know- Never mind." Harry tried a smile that quickly changed into a grimace. "Never mind," he repeated. "Let's go, Ron."
    Ron followed, muttering under his breath.
  
  
  
  
    Malfoy stomped into the Slytherin bathroom and leaned against the counter, glaring into the mirror. "'I know about _it_,'" he repeated to himself. "'It.'"
    "What is _it_?" He shook his head. Something was very wrong with Potter lately. He didn't care, per se, but it was rather disconcerting, having your rival come up to you and apologize about nothing. It really made no sense. Malfoy couldn't quite explain it to himself; it was like Potter was talking in code.
    He mulled it over for a full five minutes, and abruptly it became clear. Potter knew about the letters.
    Potter was blackmailing him.
    "Filthy little son of a…" The door slammed behind him.
  
  
  
  
Author's Note #2: "Curiouser and curiouser!" This chapter makes me laugh. Okay, I know this was a short chapter, and it took me forever to update (once again), but I'm working a lot of hours now that it's summer. Does anybody want to pay me to sit at home all day and scribble fanfics and insane rantings? Anybody…? Any takers…? Hmm. I give up. Oh, survey says I should put in some more pornorific poetry. I think that's funny! Maybe next chapter I will. Anyway, please review, and I'll try to update soon! 


	4. Beware the cliffhanger

Author: Mirai (Mirai2 now, apparently... wah...)  
  
Warnings: still spoiler-free, but contains slash, ludicrous misunderstandings, and a cliffhanger.  
  
Author's Note: Thank you thank you thank you for reviewing!   
  
I no longer have the internet on my computer because, apparently, internet + my computer = locked up computer. It's not worth paying for it anymore. I'm bitter, but in two weeks I'll get my next work check, sooooo... Anyway, I'm updating at the library.  
  
One thing I should probably explain, because someone asked: there have only been those few letters thus far. Everything has taken place in a span of three days, making this the fourth day. Enough of my babbling, on with the story!  
  
Harry was trying to think of a way to get out of herbology. After yesterday, he didn't want to see Malfoy ever again. Even more so than usual. He tromped down the stairs, noticing that his shoe was untied. He considered purposely tripping on it. It really was a long way down the stairs, though. He sighed, resigning himself to facing Malfoy. He wished he hadn't been so nice to him. Malfoy could die for all he cared, and hopefully he'd do it before herbology.  
  
Harry found himself in the Great Hall, which was unusually quiet for the time of day. Not one to dismiss an opportunity, he walked over to the knight casually; he hadn't expected to be able to get the reply note until tonight, after everyone had gone to bed. He looked around one more time and opened the knight's helmet. The screech of the metal was unnatural in the silent hall. Harry closed the helmet. There was still nothing in it.  
  
Harry looked around. The hall was still empty, but he felt as if someone else was with him. He scratched the back of his neck, trying to dispel the tingling feeling that started there.  
  
Before he had time to dwell on it, Malfoy appeared around the corner, creeping stealthily towards him. When he finally noticed Harry, he nearly jumped. Harry did his best to act nonchalant, which was quite difficult, as he was staring at his feet in the middle of an empty room.   
  
Malfoy walked up to him, fists clenched at his sides. Harry prepared himself for disaster. "Don't... even... think about it, Potter," he spat. He stalked off the way he had come.  
  
Harry almost sighed in relief. That could have gone worse. Although, he had no clue what Malfoy was ranting about. Obviously his mind was going first.  
  
Harry entered herbology feeling a little better than he had earlier. He waved to Ron and Hermione, who seemed to be carefully avoiding looking at each other. Harry had a sneaking suspicion that this was somehow related to the upcoming Valentine's Day dance.   
  
"Where have you been?" Ron asked. Thankfully, before Harry had to reply Professor Sprout clapped her hands and the chatter died down.  
  
"Let's see," said Professor Sprout, "who doesn't have a partner?"  
  
Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, and shrugged, raising his hand. Then, across the room, glaring death at Crabbe and Goyle, Malfoy slowly raised his hand. Harry's eyes widened, and he looked at Ron. Ron looked like his parents had just told him he was a mistake. "Sorry mate," he muttered seriously to Harry. "Play dead...?" he suggested weakly.  
  
"Perfect," said Sprout, gently guiding Harry over to Malfoy.  
  
  
  
Perfect was not the word. Herbology assignments generally weren't difficult, but partner assignments often required perfect cooperation. Harry doubted that partner assignments where neither person would speak, look, or breath in the general direction of the other were frequently successful. Several of their pots were squirmy, and when one wiggled out of his grip, rather than grabbing it, Malfoy merely watched the pot fall to the floor. When Malfoy had the same problem, Harry looked ponderously up at the ceiling. He fancied he could feel Malfoy's glare on the back of his neck. They went on like this for most of the class period, until the good-natured Professor Sprout was thoroughly exasperated with them. She picked up the unharmed bulbs and carried them off.   
  
Harry and Draco were left to clean up the mess after all the rest of the students had gone. Harry decided to ignore Malfoy and attempt to get out of the herbology room as quickly as possible. The only problem with ignoring Malfoy was that he couldn't see where he was. He bent down to pick up a clod of dirt just as Malfoy reached for a broken pot, and their heads banged together. Harry and Draco both sat up and glared at each other. Apparently, it was the last straw for both of them.  
  
"Ow!"  
  
"Oh, what's the matter, Potter? Just a few more brain cells, no one's going to notice!" Malfoy's voice rose; he was having trouble controlling his temper.  
  
"You should talk! Your former house elf has the intelligence of your entire family combined!"  
  
"I can't believe a twit like you thinks he can blackmail me, a Malfoy! It'll never happen."  
  
"Yeah, well I'm glad you're dying!  
  
The momentary silence that followed was about as subtle as a piano falling from the sky.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"I'm not dying!"  
  
"I'm not blackmailing you!"  
  
"Though, when I have to be your partner, death really is preferable..."  
  
"But that is an excellent idea, now that you mention it..."  
  
"I'd rather you bit it, really..."  
  
"If only I had some dirt..."  
  
There was another brief silence. Harry could have sworn he heard the soft croon of soap opera music playing somewhere.  
  
"Why did you think I was blackmailing you?" Harry asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.  
  
Malfoy coughed. "Same reason you thought I was dying, I'm sure."  
  
"Er... I thought... forget about it."  
  
They cleaned up the herbology greenhouse without another word.  
  
Harry climbed towards the Gryffindor house, pausing halfway up the stairs. He looked around. He had that strange feeling again, like someone was watching him. He shivered.  
  
"Malfoy?" he said, his voice echoing in the empty hall. He remembered getting this feeling once, when he was on the quidditch field with Malfoy and the second time, when he was in the Great Hall, and Malfoy had come in. Now that he thought about it, he was spending more time with Malfoy than seemed morally right. It wasn't something to dwell on now, though, and anyway, Malfoy was nowhere to be seen.  
  
He took another step up the stairs. Maybe, maybe he should just ignore it. But it wasn't the first time he had been right about a feeling.  
  
"I know you're there," he said. The dim stairs were silent, and the flickering torches showed nothing that shouldn't be there. Harry started, hearing a creak from up the stairs. He whirled around, but it was only the portrait of the fat lady swinging open, revealing a familiar red head.  
  
"Harry?" Ron stepped into the hall, light spilling onto the floor from the common room. "I thought I heard you out here but... Never mind. Hey, sorry about Herbology."  
  
Harry took one last glance down the dark stairs. "It's not your fault. One of us would have been stuck with him, and better me than you or Hermione. You would have killed him and Hermione..." Harry walked up the stairs.  
  
Ron nodded seriously. "Hermione might have started another club."  
  
The portrait closed behind the two boys, and the hall was silent again. But against the wall, an unnatural shadow that didn't sway with the dancing flames crept down the wall, oozing and buckling, then becoming material, a human form under a black cloak. Beneath the dark hood the only visible feature was a Cheshire grin full of pointed teeth.  
  
"You know I am heeeere, Harry Potter, but you cannot ssssstop meeee."  
  
AN: Soap opera music is right. Next episode: Draco's long lost evil twin returns, revealing that he is dying and carrying Harry's baby while secretly embezzling funds from Malfoy Inc. in order to pay for his drug addiction.  
  
No worries, this isn't going to turn into Hogwarts Chainsaw Massacre or anything, just stay tuned for next week's (or month's... or year's...) exciting installation of Love Letter! 


	5. 5 Servings

Author: Mirai Warnings: If you dislike talking man-plants, cheap shots, and general skeez… ABANDON SHIP! Author's Note: As usual, I'm a terrible person, I never update, blah blah blah…   
  
  


An ancient tower in the Forbidden Forest broke through the trees, seeming to brush the sky. The sun was just rising above the lush forest, creeping over the tower like the vines that had long ago begun their assault up the gray stone.  


Watching the forest from one arched window stood a woman in a black cloak. She turned away from the window, surveying the inside of the turret, which had all the trappings of a mad alchemist's lab. Shiny bottles of strangely colored fluids lined row after row of wooden shelves. A cauldron boiled over the fire and various murky vats steamed odd silver and gold mists into the air. In the center of the room sat a large round container.  


"Anandeus."  


"Yesssss, my lord?" The witch Anandeus turned to look at the pot where Voldemort had taken root. Literally. 

The black pot had been filled with sand, presumably from the desert, as it surrounded a tall, man-shaped cactus. It seemed Lord Voldemort was running out of forms to take.  


"You have not yet explained why you think it will be so simple to destroy Potter and take a student for my new body. I realize that Dumbledore will not be present at Hogwarts for the next week, but Potter has shown remarkable intuition in the past. How will I be sure he has not discovered my plan?"  


The woman nodded. "Ah, my lord. You have chosen a veeeery aussssspiciousssss time to attack. For you ssssseeee, the night after thissss is February 14th."  


"Yes, and?"  


"Valentine'ssss Day. There is a danssse on thissss day."  


"Ah, yes." To the extent that a cactus-man can smile, Voldemort was. "It brings back memories. Re-writing candy hearts… poisoning chocolates… that dead rat in my gift to Teera… ahem. So, obviously Potter will be distracted, but will it be enough?"  


The witch flashed her knife-blade teeth. "Yesss, Potter hasssss set himssself-"  


"Would you stop with the hissing already?"  


Anandeus looked hurt. "But my lord, I sssound like a sssnake, and it ssscares the children."  


"No you don't and no it doesn't. You were sssaying? Er, saying?"  


"Yes. Potter has unwittingly engineered his own diversion, far better than anything I could have devised."  


"Which is?" Voldemort was obviously growing impatient, which was generally not a good thing. Anandeus quickly explained what she had discovered.  


"Excellent!" Voldemort sounded positively ecstatic. The witch backed away; what most people feared now from Voldemort was a friendly pat on the back, or a high five. But instead Voldemort sighed.  


"My lord?"  


"I wish I could rub my hands together gleefully."  


"Soon, my lord. Soon."   
  
  
  
  


"Harry! Harry!" Ron was shaking him, and the very strange dream Harry was having about an evil cactus man slipped away as quickly as it had come.  


"What?" Harry muttered.  


"You have to get up! Don't you know what day it is?"  


"It's Saturday." Harry stuffed his face into his pillow.  


"No! Well, yes, but it's the day before the dance!"  


With a groan, Harry gave up attempting to ignore Ron, who was now pacing back and forth in front of his bed. He put on his glasses and looked at the clock.  


"Ron, it's five in the morning."  


"Exactly. The dance is at nine o'clock tomorrow night, leaving us exactly 40 hours to get ready."  


"Giving me 39 hours to sleep." Harry flopped back against the pillows.  


But Ron kept pacing, and Harry could hear each footstep clomp down in the large room. Finally he opened one eye. "Why are you so worked up about this, Ron?" Normally, Ron was the most easy-going – not to mention procrastinating – person he knew.  


Ron stopped pacing. "If I screw up, Hermione will kill me."  


Harry nodded slowly. "You're right. At least let me get some breakfast first."  
  
  
  
  


The Great Hall was packed, but the first thing Harry noticed – he hadn't even realized he was looking – was Malfoy. And Malfoy was looking back at him, a suspicious look on his face that Harry supposed matched his own. Harry looked away. He had a very bad feeling about today.  


While Harry tried to eat his blueberry bagel, Ron was listing everything they were going to do during the day. Harry tried to pay attention, but he was too busy thinking about other things. Plus, Ron kept saying everything in military time.  


"0800. We meet Ginny, who will help us brush up on our dancing. 0900... Harry, are you even listening?"  


"Got it. '0900, Harry are you even…' oh. Sorry."  


Ron frowned and waved his spoon at Harry. "You've been doing a lot of that lately. Listen, if whoever it was turned you down, we'll find someone else. I don't care if it's the ugliest hag, I don't care how many teeth she's missing, but you're going to this dance, and no one's- "  


"No," Harry shook his head. "Geez, thanks for your vote of confidence, Ron. It's not that. It's just – " Harry didn't feel right about the upcoming dance. Something horrible was going to happen. Either that, or the bagel he had just eaten was a bit on the old side. Maybe, though, he was simply worried, because there was still no response to his note. Maybe he was afraid to go to the dance alone. He sighed. "I don't know. I guess I'm just nervous."  


Ron nodded wisely. "Honestly," he confided, "I'm a bit nervous myself." Harry didn't mention how obvious that statement was, and Ron looked back down at his list. "I wish I knew who you were going with." But Ron didn't press, which was good, because Harry's response would have been "so do I." "Okay, so 0900. First, we'll stop at Talben's Tailors…"  


Harry left the other half of his bagel on the plate. He did eat part of his omelet, though. He had a feeling today was going to be a very long day.  
  
  
  
  


Somewhere in Ron's tightly planned schedule – actually, when Ron and Ginny began fighting, and Harry thought it best to go out – Harry found a chance to go down to the Great Hall. A lump in his throat, he approached the knight. He reached up, his palm resting on the warm helm, then lifted it. His hand brushed a piece of parchment, and he pulled it out.   


_ Yes. You will pardon the delay; I needed to cancel a prior engagement.  
  
_

Meet me here. Don't be late.  
  
  


"Yes!" He reread the note, just to make sure. It was strange; he couldn't figure it out, and he didn't bother trying, but something about the tone of the letter was familiar.   


When Ron found him, though, they went to Talben's Tailors, and Mr. Talben, a friendly man with a plump face, told them he would have their dress robes early tomorrow afternoon. Ron abandoned his schedule, and he and Harry spent the rest of the evening with Hermione in the common room, speculating on the upcoming event. Ron bet Hermione a butterbeer that the twinkle in Snape's eye meant he was going to try to take McGonagall to the dance. Hermione, normally not one to gamble, bet that the twinkle in Snape's eye meant he was planning to slam them all with a surprise quiz the Monday after the dance. She said the odds were so much in her favor, she could hardly refuse. Harry said he'd never noticed a twinkle in Snape's eyes, but if there was one, he'd probably gotten some powdered phlox in them.  


They laughed, had a good time, and Harry forgot the two things he had been worrying about. When his head hit the pillow that night, he gave a brief thought to the mystery of his dance partner, pondered momentarily on the vague, looming threat that seemed to be taking shape, then fell asleep before you could say "Malfoy mauled a mob of muggles." From the look of things, Harry was going to need all the sleep he could get.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
AN: All right, guys. I've gone too far. I admit it. Cactus Voldemort was artistic license taken too far, say, off the edge of a cliff. Utterly ridiculous.  
  
"Where's the action?" you cry. (meaning Harry/Draco, of course) Next chapter, I promise! The dance (da-dun!) and Voldemort's less-than-creative plan to destroy Potter are unfortunately mingled with interesting results.  
  
I guess that's all until next time. Thanks bunches for reviewing! Oh, one last thing. Say "Malfoy mauled a mob of muggles five times very fast… 


	6. Love Potion 9

A/N: Okay, so it's seriously been more than a year since I last updated this… but, what the hell, it's Valentines Day! If you're looking for continuity, this is definitely the wrong fic. If you're looking for cactus Voldemort and plastic sheep sacrificing… ding ding ding! We have a winner!

Warnings: If you've made it this far, there isn't much I can do to scare you away, brave reader! Umm… more bad poetry, general nonsense, Draco brainstorming rap-like Valentine verses.

Chapter: Love potion number nine

"I can't believe Fred and George got so much candy! I mean, they don't even try… Harry, what are you doing?" Ron stopped his pacing and ranting. It was Valentine's Day morning, and both of the boys had received small heaps of candy and valentines. Harry had already gone through his pile; he hadn't known half of the girls who'd sent him valentines. He didn't let Ron see the one from Colin Creevey. Ron would never let him forget that one if he did.

Harry quickly closed his notebook.

"Um… homework?"

"Oh… and even Percy got more candy than me! But I think he might have owled some of those valentines and boxes of candy to himself, the git…"

Harry opened his notebook again. He thought he should give his Valentine's date some chocolate, and it seemed appropriate to send a poem with it. Only problem was he couldn't come up with anything. After all, that first poem had been a joke, really. Ah well, maybe he'd just buy some flowers.

* * *

Draco was sitting in the Slytherin common room, essentially in the same situation as Harry.

_Blood is red,_

_Just like ketchup,_

_Don't fuck with me,_

_Or I'll cut you up._

Draco pressed his lips together. Was that romantic? He wasn't sure.

"Pansy," Draco called. "What do you think of this poem?"

A metal box in the shape of a heart whizzed past Draco's nose and slammed into the wall next to him.

Draco looked at it. _To Pansy, Love Clovis_, said the tag attached to it.

"_Draco Malfoy_," said Pansy from across the room. Her voice was low. Her hair was frizzy, almost poodle-like, and her eyes were bloodshot. "_Do not_ ask my opinion on a love poem you're sending to some hussy. You could have told me _before_ last night that you were going to the dance with someone else. Then I wouldn't be stuck going with _Goyle_."

That name was punctuated with a flying brick-like chunk of chocolate. Draco ducked.

"Gotcha, the "don't fuck with me" line is a bit much." Draco crossed out that line.

"Guys were lining themselves up, and I shot 'em all down, like taking out squirrels with a bazooka. They sent me love potions, cursed chocolates… Hell, one of 'em even sent a hand-crafted intoxicharm. He cared enough to _drug_ me, Draco… And I told him no... for _this!_"

Draco inserted a few "mhmms" where it seemed appropriate. He was busy concentrating on his poetry. He thought of 'borrowing' someone else's poetry, but that might be a tad déclassé. He wanted to impress his date after all.

_Far across the distance… and spaces between us…_

_Sometimes I feel I've got to (bum bum) get away…_

_Hello_

_How are you?_

_Won't you tell me your name?_

Draco scribbled a few more lines then sighed. For some reason, he kept thinking of Harry Potter. He was definitely up to something, but Draco didn't know what.

_Mary Mary, quite contrary…_

Draco scribbled out "Mary" and replaced it with "Harry".

_Harry, Harry, quite contrary, _

_How does your garden grow?_

Draco snickered. An idea was forming in his mind. He ripped off the _To Pansy, Love Clovis_ tag, scribbled a few more lines, and attached the note to the metal canister.

This would be a Valentine's Day Harry would never forget. Draco snickered to himself.

A shadow slid down the wall behind him.

_Mission accomplished_, thought the witch Anandeus.

* * *

At breakfast, Ron was still complaining about his dearth of Valentine's Day gifts. Harry suspected that he was really just upset Hermione hadn't given him anything, but, being a good friend, he just nodded and uh huh-ed.

Hermione sat down next to them at the table, and Ron finally stopped complaining. Neither of them spoke to each other. Harry sighed.

The owls came in, dropping of more Valentine's Day gifts and cards. Seamus got a particularly large, lumpy package. This started Ron complaining again, until he realized it was probably the "special project" Fred and George had been working on for the last week. Hermione and Ron ran over to stop Seamus from opening it, only to have the package explode on them, showering them and the surrounding people in red, white and pink panties.

While this was going on, a large black owl swooped low, nearly hitting Harry in the head with its package. Harry caught the thing, a metal heart canister with a note attached.

Harry glanced around. Hermione and Ron were busy explaining the panties to Snape, who was holding Fred and George by their collars. They looked like they were about to choke, but Harry thought it wasn't because Snape was holding their shirts too tightly; rather, it was probably because a sheer, lacy thong had drifted down to land on Snape's head.

With some trepidation, Harry unfolded the note.

_Harry, Harry, quite contrary,_

_How does your love life go?_

_I've been thinking of you fondly_

_And I just want you to know:_

_I dream about your skin_

_I think about your lips_

_I imagine what it's like_

_To lick your fingertips_

_Say you'll be mine_

_And I promise you this:_

_I'll give you a Valentine_

_You'll never forget_

_I'll be waiting on the stairs_

_At a quarter to nine,_

_And the things I do to you_

_Will send shivers up your spine. _

Harry dropped the note on the table. Well, that was rather forward.

"Harry? Are you all right?" Ron had escaped from the panty fiasco and was leaning over Harry's shoulder.

Harry grabbed the note and stuffed it in his pocket.

"Yeah, yup, I'm fine."

"Because you're really red. Hey, did you get another thing of candy? Man, this just isn't fair. I swear, even Neville got more than me..." And Ron was at it again. Harry munched on some of the candy. He decided that his mysterious admirer certainly had a strange sense of humor. But the candy was good, anyway. It had a strange flavor, something fruity, like mango, maybe.

"Harry, Harry, let's go get ready!"

Well, he could ask his date what the flavor was when they finally met tonight, on the stairs.

* * *

"Hermione, a corsage… for me?"

Harry practically passed out in relief. All of Ron's passive-aggressive gift comparing had been driving him nuts. Hermione had finally given Ron a return gift. It didn't even seem to bother Ron that the lime color clashed horribly with his red dress robes, and Harry didn't have the heart to mention it. He just averted his eyes. The colors were head-ache inducing.

"Harry, are you coming?" Hermione inquired.

"Er… I'll meet you guys in a few minutes."

Ron nodded, and Hermione took his arm and stepped into the Great Hall.

Harry was starting to get nervous. It was almost nine and still no sign of his date. Most of the school was already crammed in the Great Hall, dancing and chatting.

It was very quiet outside. Harry sat down on the bottom of the steps and sighed. He tossed his flowers on the stone steps next to him. Some Valentine's Day this was turning out to be. A shadow loomed in the darkness behind him.

Draco stood at the top of the stairs, triumphantly looking down at the dejected form of Harry Potter at the bottom of the stairs. Now if his date would just show up, he could show her off to Potter and waltz off into the Great Hall, leaving Potter to wait for a date that would never come.

But his date, whoever it was, was late.

Draco frowned, wondering for the millionth time who could have sent those letters. Probably a Ravenclaw, clever poetry and all that.

Draco froze. Potter had stood up, as if sensing a presence behind him. His broad shoulders straightened, and he turned to face Draco. Draco froze like a deer in the headlights. This wasn't part of the plan, and where was his damned date?

"All alone, Potter?" Draco said with a sneer. He'd make the best of it, anyway. Potter would still be left waiting for his date, preferably feeling much shittier by the time Malfoy was done with him. "Poor Potter doesn't have a Valentine? How _sad_."

Potter began walking up the stairs towards him. Draco was confused. The set of Potter's jaw was very strange, and he had a look in his eyes that Draco had never seen before.

"Malfoy…" Potter said very slowly.

It took all of Draco's self control to keep from turning tail and finding a rock to hide under.

"Yes, Potter?"

"Malfoy… no… Draco. Can I call you that?" Potter looked a little lost, confused.

"What the… No! What are you smoking? Where did that even come-mmf!"

Harry's finger pressed against his lip, effectively silencing him. Malfoy's eyes widened; what exactly was going on here?

"Draco… I'm in love with you."

Harry removed the offending finger, and leaned towards him. The torches on the ways cast odd shadows on Harry's face, reflecting their fire in Harry's eyes. What _was_ that unfathomable look in those green eyes? Draco opened his mouth. Whatever he was going to say was completely lost when Harry's lips met his own. In the Great Hall, fireworks exploded, but Draco was convinced the sound was his brain breaking.

Is Malfoy right? Has Harry indeed been smoking something in the boy's bathroom?

Stay tuned indefinitely for the next chapter of Love Letter!


End file.
